Movies? I just don’t watch them, I live them.
Movies are my wine after a long week. My doobie that takes the edge off. My cold mug of microbrew when life has grated against every nerve. You get the picture.
Films are my way of forgetting about life 100 percent, I fall for them and into them harder than any book can rapture me. But two days ago, I was told that I turn into someone else during movies. Apparently, not every facet about me is a sparkling gem. There is something not found to be endearing about me when I sit in front of a Hollywood script, and it is about to drive this person reporting this to me, insane.
To put a not too fine a point in it, I am really bugging the crap out of my domestic partner. I suppose he couldn't keep it to himself any longer, I mean, 20 years with someone is enough to make you lose your mind as it is, but for my spouse, who lives in the other camp that until now I did not recognize as existing, I have a case of 'loud movie watching.'
Seems that there is this division among movie – goers: those who watch quietly and want those co-watching to do the same, and those like me: unable to distinguish between movie reality and real life .
The screen, up there, it's all real, right? Because for 90 minutes of it, they've convinced me it's my body getting chased by Russian agents.
I don't want to get defensive because these sedate movie watchers are important people in my life, but I feel I must go on record with speaking up for my kind: are we full on movie enjoyers that bad? Are we?
I mean, if I do the things reported below, am I still/not/moreorless/ unlovable?
◾So I yell at the girl on the screen to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE already. It's my job to let her know since obviously she can’t “sense” the way that I can that the bad guy coming up to the back door is a bad guy.
◾Is it my fault that calling out for everyone to be safe takes away the thrill for you?
◾If I fall asleep for two seconds (I work hard) at what you consider a crucial moment in the film, I can still catch up to the plot. Trust me, I'm quick, I've seen them all.
◾If you ask me what movie I’d like to see, I will give you an answer and believe you when you present the question as if it’s my choice. Yes, I will insist that we see that movie. Word to the wise: if you don't want me to pick a movie you don't like, don't ask me what movie I'd like.
◾If I choke in gasping, soul-ripping tears as if it's me up on that screen, then God love me if that's the worst thing I do. For the 90 minutes we’re in front of that screen, I am the woman stranded in that back room with only one match left.
◾When something unfathomable occurs, like talking Chihuahuas, I have to call it. “Yeah, right,” is the best way. Let me say it, and I'll be on my way.
◾We all have to take a stand and make our feelings known on issues that strike at our moral fiber. If I see women portrayed as anything less than equal, I’m going to talk about it. Loud.
I see myself as providing endearing movie companionship to you, you say intolerable and unendurable movie accompaniment.
And painful, excruciating, agonizing, was also mentioned, but whatever. I just need you to sit there and watch along with me, use closed captioning for your understanding and comprehension. I exist, cerebrally, on a higher plain, I've been this way since I can remember. If things become too much again for you this Saturday night, balance out the scales by remembering who brings in the Twizzlers, who's the one who pops the popcorn and sprinkles it just right with butter, who's the one who always manages to have a chilled Gatorade in the fridge for the moment you need it.
You know who that is as well as I do. That would be me, the loud movie viewer that you sometimes forget you love so much.
So, let's strike a deal here, you can call me animated versus loud, and I'll refrain from asking to take your pulse next time we watch Jason Bourne.
We'll make it through this, because I love you.
Even when it's harder on movie nights.
* * *